


Wet'N'Wild

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Comedy, Crack, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley.exe has stopped working, F/M, I am also cursed, I am going to hell, I no longer care that I'm going to hell, M/M, Multi, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Shameless Smut, Smut, This Is STUPID, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, comedy porn, crackfic, ngk, this fic is cursed, yet another cursed fic, you bitches join me in hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: So, another crack!fic of comedy porn was demanded for the“Throat-Spackling Twunts and Other Nonsense” collection(& discord server), On one of the NSFW Good Omens facebook groups, a post was shared which went:“Do ya pu$$y ever randomly get wet and you’re just like ???? what is it girl??? What do you see???”The comment was “I saw this and it made me think about if Aziraphale decided to have a vulva but didn’t really think too much about how they work and he just gets wet when he sees Crowley and either (a) freaks the fuck out  or (b) asks Crowley what the deal is and Crowley chokes on air, and now I’m just giggling like a nut.”So I was dared to write a crack version.This is absolutely not meant to be taken seriously. Somehow the “Not on the plants, dear, we’re British” fic led to this nonsense. I’m not even sorry any more, I’m going to hell anyway. See you filthy buggers down there. *Raises glass*.NEW! JuliaJekyll has done aPODFICgo and have a listen!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 138
Kudos: 530
Collections: Crack Fic Comedy Porn, Top Crowley Library





	Wet'N'Wild

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [These Are a Few of My Least Favorite Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22125373) by [O Lord Damn This Alien (IneffableAlien)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/O%20Lord%20Damn%20This%20Alien). 



Crowley kicked her heels off and sat back on the bookshop sofa with a sigh, rubbing the balls of her feet with both hands, working the soreness out. She was clad in a floor length evening gown and was done up to the nines. Aziraphale considered her in bemusement. “You could have just worn a tux to the theatre, Crowley.” Aziraphale reclined in his chair in his own smart evening wear and poured a glass of port for each of them.

Crowley shot him a look. “I _wanted_ to dress like this, tonight, Aziraphale. The pain isn’t the point. I _like_ it. And it feels rather better when my body matches as well.” Aziraphale just didn’t get it, the demon thought. She’d never seen Aziraphale present anything other than his usual masculine self to the world, or if he had, she’d never seen it. “Haven’t you ever changed your body then?” She enquired, and accepted the glass of port from him.

Aziraphale shrugged. “I’ve never had any reason to, if I’m honest. Everything works perfectly fine as it is. Besides, over the millennia I’ve seen how people treat women, how they treat you when you’re like this, honestly it seems that I just have an easier time of things in my current form. I’m rather used to it, and it might feel rather awkward to go changing things now.”

Crowley sighed and shuddered her body back into her (mostly) masculine form, although he didn’t bother changing out of the dress, or the vulva, straight away, instead lounging back on the sofa with the dress slit to the thigh, lifting his long elegant legs up to lie across the arm rest. He noticed Aziraphale looking hurriedly away from the flash of suspenders and grinned to himself. “How about just trying little bits at first? Try a vulva for a bit, see how it suits you? Wonderful things, vulvas, very fun.” He winked salaciously at the angel, who didn’t rise to the bait. Damn.

“You can keep the rest of your body as you are and just try out the genitals for now, see what you think. I do that quite a lot, it makes it easier to deal with the trousers, for one thing.” The extraordinary amounts of alcohol they had already consumed over the evening before they even got back to the bookshop for the port had loosened Crowley’s tongue. It had also lowered his inhibitions considerably. Sober Crowley was still inside his head somewhere, screaming in embarrassment at the conversation and kicking the walls of his brain trying to get drunk Crowley to _shut the fuck up, you bloody idiot._

Because allowing headspace to considering what the angel kept in his underwear was not a direction that _any_ Crowley, sober _or_ drunk, should be taking. He was extremely glad that when he’d changed back he had retained his own vulva, so there wouldn’t be any embarrassing pointy bits under his admittedly fabulous long black sparkly dress. It left little enough to the imagination as it was. Perhaps he should summon his regular masculine attire again, but honestly he couldn’t be bothered right now. He waved the empty glass at the angel. “More port!”

Aziraphale considered the empty bottle sadly. “No more port I’m afraid. All gone.” He frowned, struggling to think. “Got some of that Dow’s crusted port laid down, will need to decant it and let it breathe a bit first though.”

Crowley shrugged and giggled. “Any port in a storm, Angel.” Aziraphale looked at him blankly. Eh, not every joke landed. Aziraphale went through to the back room and returned with a bottle of port and a cut crystal decanter. He uncorked the bottle and slowly decanted it. He then read the label and reconsidered.

“I’ll have to get another decanter, says you’ve got to decant this one twice to let the sediment settle out properly. Bugger this, I’ll get the whisky instead so we can enjoy something now, come back to the port later.” He disappeared again and returned this time with a Glenturret and two crystal tumblers filled with ice. He poured two generous measures and passed one over to Crowley, chinking the rim of their glasses together with a lopsided grin. “To vulvas!” he slurred gently.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and took a slug of whisky. He glanced across to where the angel was now sat in his chair again, apparently drunkenly considering his own crotch. Crowley joined him in this endeavour, realised he was staring, and looked away again hurriedly. Thankfully Aziraphale was too inebriated to notice. He really needed to stop thinking about Aziraphale’s crotch, no matter what it consisted of. But he couldn’t. Fuck it he couldn’t. _Argh_.

“So… how does one manifest a vulva?” Aziraphale pondered aloud. Crowley flinched.

“Is that a rhetorical question, Angel, or do you really want me to tell you?” Oh god he hoped Aziraphale didn’t want him to go into all the details or he might spontaneously combust.

Aziraphale shrugged. “I suppose I can work it out. Should I do it now, d’you think?”

Crowley spat his mouthful of whisky across the room.

“WHZZT?” he managed to splutter.

“Should I have a go now, changing things, I mean?” Aziraphale repeated, helpfully.

Crowley short circuited, as if Aziraphale hadn’t just filled his mind with mental images of various delicious body parts shunting around in his underwear. Any one of which Crowley would give his right arm to get his lips around. Someone’s right arm, anyway.

Too late.

Aziraphale had his eyes closed and appeared to be concentrating. Crowley tried not to stare.

He failed.

Aziraphale’s crotch area became slightly less full, and Crowley’s jaw dropped at the implications. His own vulva becoming rather more wet than it had been a few seconds ago.

Aziraphale sat up a little straighter and wriggled in his seat happily. “Oh, that feels rather different.”

Crowley tried, and failed, to think of any appropriate response to that comment.

“Urk.”

Aziraphale stood and walked, slightly unsteadily, around the shop a little, occasionally wriggling his backside a little at the unusual new sensation in his underwear. Crowley blinked slowly, and swallowed. He couldn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale’s backside, and reached out blindly to the table next to him for the whisky bottle. He opened it, and disregarding his tumbler completely, put the bottle to his lips and took a long gulp straight from it instead.

The next moment the bottle hit the floor, not smashing from this low height, but instead rolling under the sofa sadly glugging 60 year old single malt scotch over the rug, because Aziraphale had turned round and was groping the front of his trousers speculatively, with a thoughtful look on his face.

Crowley fell off the sofa.

He sat, in a rather expensive malty puddle, and stared at the angel, cupping where his cock wasn’t, in a drunken stupor. Aziraphale grinned at him. “It’s rather nice, isn’t it?”

Crowley couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

He sprawled back flat on the floor. He couldn’t deal with this.

Not. At. All.

“’Ziraphale, I’m… I’m… I’m goin’ home, can’t deal with this, see you tomorrow or somethin’, ok?”

Aziraphale looked crestfallen. “But Crowley…” he began.

Crowley snapped his fingers and disappeared. It seemed easier, he thought, than bothering to sober up and drive home. He’d walk over tomorrow and pick up the Bentley again. Right now he wanted to continue drinking until he couldn’t remain conscious any more and hopefully forget the events of the evening in a haze of oblivion. With any luck when he woke up, hangover or no, he wouldn’t have to remember any of it.

* * *

Things don’t always go to plan, because Crowley woke up the next morning and his brain helpfully supplied a rather hazy play-by-play recap of the events of the previous evening, leaving him groaning in mortification as well as in pain. Well at least he could fix one of those problems. He concentrated and purged the remaining alcohol and toxins from his body.

His tongue tasted like a cat had shat on it.

It took several coffees before he felt bolstered enough for the short walk back to the bookshop to pick up the Bentley. The fresh air would do him good anyway. Best plan would be to sneak over, get the car and go, not even bother knocking or going in. Go there, get car, home again. That’s it. That’s the plan. Right.

He squared his shoulders and set off.

Unfortunately just as he was unlocking the car, Aziraphale opened the door of the shop and greeted him brightly. He must have sobered up last night after Crowley left as he looked far too chipper by half. “Morning, Crowley! I say, that production at the theatre yesterday evening was rather good, wasn’t it? Would you like to come in for some coffee? I just got some croissants from the bakery down the street, you’re welcome to join me for breakfast.”

Crowley groaned internally. He couldn’t refuse Aziraphale. He sighed and locked the car again, slinking into the book shop staring firmly at the floor.

Crowley was back in his usual attire of tight black jeans and body hugging top, having manifested his masculine genitalia back again at some point during the night. He wondered vaguely why he bothered, but couldn’t remember. He’d probably had a wank after rubbing one out on his clit so he could have the best of both worlds. It was the kind of thing that drunk him would do.

Aziraphale looked at him rather strangely, his brows knitted in consternation, then shook his head and went to put the kettle on. Crowley noticed there was still a sticky patch on the rug where the whisky had soaked in last night, and snapped it clean again out of courtesy.

Aziraphale brought him coffee and a croissant and they chatted amiably enough about the theatre, and other random things, although Crowley noticed that Aziraphale was rather more… wriggly… in his seat than usual.

He tried not to think about it.

* * *

Things carried on as normal for a while. They’d occasionally meet up and have a saunter through the park for old time’s sake, visit a museum or exhibition, go off to a book auction where Crowley would do what he did best, distracting the other bidders so that Aziraphale could win on whichever book he was after, whilst the other bids got lost in the confusion.

But Crowley noticed that Aziraphale was seeming a little different to usual. It was subtle but it was there. He was definitely… wriggly. Fidgety. And occasionally clearly disconcerted.

They sat in the Victoria and Albert museum, people watching and laughing at clueless tourists. Aziraphale piped up. “Oh, Anathema got in touch the other day. She and Newt are coming for a few days away in London, to take in the sights, as she hasn’t really had the opportunity to do so yet. They said they might like to meet up with us at some point. Would you be amenable, dear boy?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. He hadn’t been expecting to maintain a friendship with the humans. There hadn’t seemed to be much point before, as they lived such brief lives you’d just get to know them then they’d shuffle off this mortal coil and you’d have to find a new one again. But he supposed that those humans who had been involved in the failed Armageddon were somewhat different. They’d seen beyond what normal humans saw, and understood a bit more of what made supernatural creatures like Aziraphale and Crowley tick. He supposed it’d be nice to get to know them a little better.

“Sure. I can get them some priority tickets to some of the attractions so they don’t have to wait for stuff like everybody else, pull a few strings, get them some good dinner reservations and suchlike. Just let me know.”

* * *

The following week they’d spent a few days showing Anathema the sights. Newt was already familiar with much of it, but appreciated the VIP treatment that Crowley had wrangled for them with his demonic wiles. Crowley could see that Newton was rather in awe of him and followed him around like a puppy, as if trying to absorb some of Crowley’s aura by osmosis. Crowley found it mildly amusing. The human appeared to think the demon _was_ cool, rather than just being a thin veneer of apparent coolness in a designer suit overlaid on a quivering bundle of neuroses.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, had rather taken to Anathema, and enjoyed talking to her about her family history and The Book. She had resisted telling him about the other Book, which she and Newt had burned. She knew that kind of information would probably have reduced the angel to tears, to know that the second book was destroyed. But she didn’t want to be a descendant all her life.

Crowley sauntered ahead through the park as Newt chatted amiably at him, whilst Aziraphale and Anathema walked a few steps behind, enjoying their ice creams. Aziraphale considered the woman thoughtfully for a few moments. He had questions and she seemed fairly open and approachable, perhaps he should ask…

“Anathema, dear, do you ever sense demonic presence with your vulva?”

Anathema spat out her ice cream and snorted incredulously. “Do I _WHAT_?”

Aziraphale continued. “It keeps tingling when Crowley is around”

Anathema stared at him. “First of all, you have a vulva…?”

Aziraphale nodded happily. “Yes, Angels and demons don’t have sexes generally, unless we feel the need to make an effort one way or another, and I decided that rather than get stuck in a rut that I’d try out some alternative arrangements for a little while. I thought I’d ask you, seeing as you presumably own one as well. Is it normal? I mean, you’re a witch, does yours detect evil influences like that too?”

Anathema floundered for words, and gaped at the backs of Crowley and Newt ahead of them. She swallowed. “Uh, no. That’s not something that vulvas do. I think…” she gulped again, and tried not to laugh. “… I think that is a conversation that you might, perhaps like to have with Crowley.”

Aziraphale nodded, as if he understood (he didn’t) “Oh, I see. Well, I apologise if I said something indecorous to you, my dear. I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was regarding such things, not having owned one before. But thank you. I shall ask Crowley.”

Anathema snorted. “Uh, yeah. D’you have a mobile phone, Aziraphale?”

The angel looked puzzled. “No, why?”

Anathema giggled. “Oh, it’s not important, I was just going to ask if you’d consider videoing his response when you do.”

Aziraphale shook his head in confusion and licked his ice cream instead. Humans were truly unfathomable sometimes.

* * *

After Newt and Anathema had returned home, Crowley and Aziraphale met at the Ivy near Covent Garden for Dinner. Crowley studied Aziraphale carefully. Yup, it was still strange – the angel was still acting weird. It was subtle, but he’d known him for thousands of years, and there was something indefinably different going on that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was bugging him. Aziraphale was still slightly more on edge, more fidgety than he used to be. Crowley wanted to ask but didn’t quite know how. He supposed Aziraphale would bring it up if it was something that he wanted to talk with Crowley about. He’d just give him time.

Walking home, somewhat relaxed again thanks to downing not one, but two magnums of Möet & Chandon champagne with dinner, Aziraphale finally broached the subject. “Crowley…?” he began, hesitantly.

“Mmm, ‘sup, Angel?” Crowley murmured, only slightly slurred.

“I think my vagina might be faulty.”

Crowley fell over his own feet and landed in a sprawl on the pavement.

Crowley.exe had stopped working.

Aziraphale stared down at him in surprise as the demon returned his stare in sheer shock.

“What the _fuck_ , Aziraphale?”

“Whatever is the matter, my dear boy?” Aziraphale extended a hand to help him to his feet. Crowley accepted it but continued to stare at him, wide eyed.

“Your… your… _vagina_ … is, is, is… _faulty_?” he stammered.

Aziraphale nodded. “I rather think so, I tried asking Anathema about it but she didn’t really have an answer for me and suggested that I ask you instead.”

Crowley glowered. “Oh she did, did she? Was she laughing at the time?”

Aziraphale was confused “well she was a little, now you come to mention it, why?”

Crowley groaned. “Doesn’t matter. What is it, Aziraphale, why do you think it’s… _faulty_?”

“Well, I think it detects your presence by releasing fluids, it’s really rather bothersome, and rather wet.”

Crowley choked on thin air. He doubled over trying to catch a breath. Aziraphale looked rather concerned. “Are you _sure_ you’re ok, Crowley?” Crowley shook his head.

No he really fucking wasn’t ok. He was as far away from ok as it was possible to get. If ok was Swindon, he was in the fucking Shetland isles. Hell, if ‘ok’ was Swindon, Crowley was in fucking _Australia_. He looked up at the bemused angel.

“…wet?” he managed, weakly.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. And tingly.”

“…tingly…” Crowley groaned. He slumped to the floor, sitting down hard on the pavement again, resting against some iron railings at the side of the path. His knees had just checked out and decided to have no further business in holding him upright until further notice.

“…And what precipitates this wet tingly … stuff… then, Angel?” he asked, wishing he hadn’t. Really, _really_ , wishing he hadn’t, but he couldn’t help it, this was car crash viewing. He had to know all the gory details. His cock was wide awake in his trousers and he wished he had a hacksaw so he could dispense with the damned thing permanently at this point. But as usual, his damned mouth was on autopilot and spewing out things he definitely hadn’t given it permission to.

“Well… it only does it when you’re around. I asked Anathema if hers did it too when she was around demons but she said it didn’t. I thought it might be some kind of evil detection reaction or something.”

Crowley gave him the long, cool look of someone who has just had a girder dropped in front of his train of thought.

“Ngh.”

“Oh, do stand up, dear. You can’t sit down on the pavement all evening.” Aziraphale admonished, reaching down to lift him up again. Crowley stumbled as he stood, and found his body pressed against Aziraphale’s. They both stared into each other’s eyes in shock.

Crowley’s hard cock was pressed against Aziraphale’s crotch, and that was already too much to compute, but the surprise in the angel’s eyes and the soft exclamation of “oh!” that puffed from his lips into Crowley’s face told him everything he needed to know about the current status of the angel’s underwear at that point.

Aziraphale was still holding Crowley upright, and rather close to his own body. “Um, you see, it just got rather worse then.” Aziraphale stammered. “Really, very much worse. It is really _very_ wet now, yes, very wet indeed.”

Crowley went boneless and slithered towards the floor again, but was halted in his collapse by Aziraphale hoisting him up easily by grabbing under the demon’s arms and lifting him back up. “You really are in a bad way too, aren’t you, Crowley? Well we aren’t far from your place, let’s get you home.”

Crowley croaked an unintelligible reply, and found himself being swept off his feet in the strong arms of the angel and carried across his body down the street, unable to do a single _thing_ about the situation. _I mean, couldn’t he have done something a bit less undignified, like a fireman’s lift or something, instead of hoisting Crowley aloft like a bride crossing the threshold for fucks sake?_

But he couldn’t put voice to any of his protestations, so opted to hide his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder instead, blushing to the tips of his toes and cursing himself in every swear word he knew, in every language he knew, including the dead languages and even Enochian, in a constant low mumble into Aziraphale’s jacket.

He’d got about halfway down the list (he knew several thousands of years worth of expletives), when they stepped into the lift in his apartment block. “What on earth are you muttering on about, Crowley?” Aziraphale demanded, finally lowering him to the floor for a moment whilst still keeping a strong arm around his waist, holding Crowley too close to that warm soft body for his brain to deal with. Forgetting the next ancient expletive on the list, he fell back on old reliable.

“ _Fuck_ , Angel, whyyyyy?” he whimpered.

“Why what, Crowley?”

Crowley cast about aimlessly, sweeping his arm in an arc that indicated the curvaceousness of the angel in general and his crotch in particular, his arm around Crowley’s waist and the universe as a whole. “Why everything? Why anything? Why you? Why _wet_ ???” he whined. _Why ME?_ Crowley thought to himself. Mainly _WHY was the angel choosing to squish the demon so close against his warm body?_

“Why hug?” he tried, weakly, looking utterly helpless.

“Well your legs don’t seem to be doing a very good job of keeping you vertical right now, to be frank, my dear.”

Crowley tried to straighten up. Damnit, this was _his_ body, and he wasn’t about to take any lip from a bunch of muscles. _Behave yourselves_ , he thought at them. He stood on wobbly legs and spread his arms wide, indicating his general vertical-ness to the angel. _Look, see? Standing, upright and everything, I’m good at this._

Standing a foot apart from Aziraphale now though, stance open and hands waving up and down to indicate how humanly capable he was, standing on his own feet, he was also inviting Aziraphale’s gaze to take in his body as a whole, which unfortunately included the prominent bulge in his very tight trousers. The angel whimpered and squeezed his thighs together a little. His own knees suddenly inexplicably turning to jelly.

This time Aziraphale tipped forward into Crowley’s arms just as the lift pinged to Crowley’s floor and the doors slid open. Crowley caught him just as his rather stiff-upper-lipped, prim and proper Daily Mail reading, 60-something year old neighbour caught his eye. He was standing waiting for the lift. The neighbour glared at the pair of them coldly as they stood wrapped in each other’s arms.

“No, nononono this isn’t what it looks like” Crowley stammered, flustered, trying to manhandle Aziraphale out of the lift and past the icy stare of Mr. Judgemental. _Arsehole_ , Crowley thought. He’d have to go put some superglue in the twat’s lock later. Maybe some dogshit under his car door handles for good measure.

Aziraphale was rather breathless in Crowley’s arms, legs wobbling and grasping at his jacket for balance. “Can’t… quite, uh, stand up so well myself now, dear boy. This vulva really has _quite_ taken over things somehow.”

Crowley grunted and waved at his front door to open it, then supported Aziraphale through, kicking the door closed behind them. He swung Aziraphale around so that he was pressed up against the wall next to the door, holding him by his lapels trying to keep him upright. It seemed to make things worse, if anything, and the angel _groaned_ indecently, eyes rolling back in his head. “Oh _Crowley_ …” he moaned breathily, shivering with delight.

That was it, Crowley was done. _Done_.

He couldn’t help it, he really couldn’t. If his cock was like a steel rod right now, the angel was a neodymium magnet. He crushed his body against Aziraphale with a low growl and buried his face in the angel’s shoulder, breathing deep. Aziraphale’s arms were suddenly around him, forbidding any escape, and damnit, he was _grinding_ back against Crowley’s hard on. Crowley was _so_ fucked.

“Crowley” Aziraphale gasped helplessly. “What’s wrong with me?” Crowley lifted his head and stared into Aziraphale’s blue eyes incredulously.

“You don’t _know_?”

Aziraphale’s brows knotted in consternation, he hadn’t stopped grinding against Crowley’s erection, his hips apparently operating on autopilot. “…no?” he whimpered.

Crowley’s head fell back and he glared at the ceiling with a hiss of frustration, before looking at Aziraphale again. “You’re horny, Angel. This is lust, and you’ve got it bad. For me, apparently. And quite frankly, the feeling is mutual. In case that fact was not, also, apparent to you. I mean you _are_ grinding against it after all.”

Aziraphale looked down, as if only just noticing what his hips were up to. “Oh.”

He didn’t stop, however.

“…. Is there any way to turn it off?”

Crowley let out a short laugh. “Well there’s three ways I suppose. Manifest a penis, but that’d probably arrive erect and you’d just have the same problem I’ve got right now, the boring option of just banishing any genitals at all, or the fun option, of giving it some satisfaction to shut it up.” He grinned at Aziraphale.

He’d known him for 6,000 years. He knew what he was like.

Aziraphale was a little hedonist.

“I might like to try the fun option?” Aziraphale hazarded.

 _Bingo_. Crowley grinned wider and waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the angel. “Temptation accomplished then. Thought you’d never ask, Angel.”

Crowley tried to prise himself away from Aziraphale so he could guide him to the bedroom, but it was like escaping a particularly amorous octopus. “Angel, I’m not intending to ravish you on the bloody floor, behave and come with me.” Aziraphale reluctantly released his grip on Crowley, but kept hold of one hand and followed him to the bedroom on shaking legs.

Aziraphale collapsed down onto the bed and Crowley climbed down on top of him. “Do you really want this, Angel?” he asked quietly. Aziraphale reached up to run his fingers through Crowley’s wild red hair gently. “Absolutely, dear boy.” He pulled Crowley’s head down until their lips met. The kiss was softer than expected, Crowley lifted off after a moment to gaze down at Aziraphale wondering how the hell this had even happened. He decided that quite frankly he didn’t care right now. It was time to carpe the fuck out of that diem and give his angel what he wanted. He returned the kiss far more passionately.

They were grinding at each other with equal fervour, until Crowley growled in frustration, he was wearing far too many clothes for what he had in mind. He sat up, still straddling Aziraphale’s hips, and stripped off his top half. Aziraphale gazed up at him rapt, and that loving tender look halted Crowley’s thought process altogether. He stared back at Aziraphale, who had started unbuttoning his own waistcoat and removing his bow tie.

When Aziraphale bucked his hips up at Crowley, it jolted his brain temporarily back into action. He grunted and rolled off the angel to lie on his back, unzip his jeans and wriggle out of them, kicking his boots off the end of the bed and pulling off each sock with his toes. Aziraphale seemed to be unwrapping himself with unseemly haste as well. Crowley sat up and watched as incrementally more pieces of the angel were revealed. He realised that his jaw was hanging open only when Aziraphale reached over and placed a gentle finger under his chin to push it closed again with a fond smile.

When the angel’s trousers and underwear were kicked aside, Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. Aziraphale was laid out before him invitingly like a ten course meal and Crowley felt like he hadn’t eaten for several weeks. “Still wet, I see?” he croaked with difficulty. Aziraphale bit his lip and slid his hand downward to explore himself, then nodded. 

“Rather.” He was blushing. Crowley followed suit. 

But fuck it, his time had come. He had _trained_ for this. He felt like a para getting ready to jump. Millennia of seductions were nothing compared to what he was about to undertake. How do you take an angel to heaven when he already knows what the real thing was like? Well he was about to find out. Girding his metaphorical loins, Crowley lowered himself to the bed between Aziraphale’s spread legs and licked his lips, trying not to grin too much. This was his speciality, damnit, and he wasn’t going to let the angel forget it. 

He slid his hands between Aziraphale’s thighs and gently parted them further. Surprisingly nervous now it came down to brass tacks. _Get a bloody grip on yourself, you idiot. Tongue, now! Do it before the poor angel discorporates from sheer frustration!_ Despite arguing with his inner monologue, Crowley wanted to take his time to savour this and make it special for Aziraphale. 

His cock, of course, had other ideas, but that could shut the fuck up too. It could wait its turn, thank you very much. Crowley shuffled forwards a little, feeling Aziraphale’s thighs quivering either side of his shoulders. _Oh just you wait, Angel…_ He thought with a grin.

At the first lick, he thought he was going to have to scrape Aziraphale off the ceiling. The angel almost sodding levitated and yelped so loud that the neighbour’s dog replied. Crowley grinned harder, and carried on. 

He could do really weird things with his tongue. 

He did them. 

He incidentally discovered that the angel also had a list of expletives almost as long as his own, in a similarly diverse selection of languages, both ancient and modern. The angel utilised them to their fullest while Crowley licked him insensible and sucked on his clit until he screamed and damn near pulled the demon’s red hair out in clumps. 

When Aziraphale’s first orgasm arrived, he thought the angel was about to achieve transcendence. Aziraphale had lost all capacity for speech and was sobbing incoherently, and fuck it all, he was _glowing_ . Actually _glowing_ . Crowley lapped up the gush of ecstasy from between the angel’s thighs and grinned so hard it damn well _hurt_. The satisfaction of a job well done plastered a stupidly smug look on his face which was rudely interrupted when Aziraphale sat up, grabbed him beneath his arms and hauled him up his body (yanking a surprised yelp from the demon), to pull him into a crushing and rather messy kiss. 

The thought of Aziraphale kissing his own juices off Crowley’s lips sent his brain into a Blue Screen Of Death and he froze, wide-eyed, in the angel’s grasp. He then became very urgently aware that his painfully erect cock was now pressed very firmly against an extremely wet and warm part of Aziraphale’s new anatomy. 

At this point his body rebelled entirely, eschewing instructions from the helm, his corporation took over on instinct and began grinding against Aziraphale’s wet slit with wild abandon. The sensation of Crowley’s cockhead sliding against his clit sent Aziraphale into shuddering, shaking whimpers, and he wrapped those strong thighs around Crowley’s narrow hips and _pulled_ him closer, brooking no debate on the matter. 

The angel was _growling_ , goddamnit. 

Well, two could play at that game. Crowley bit at Aziraphale’s neck and growled back possessively. He angled his hips and let the slip become a dive, pushing in and apparently finding the hidden “OHMYGODYES” button somewhere inside, as the angel tipped his head back and shouted loud enough to cause an angry banging on the ceiling from the floor of the flat above. 

_Fuck em_ , Crowley thought. Miserable bastards. He decided to make his angel get louder out of sheer petty contrariness. He rolled his hips and bit at Aziraphale’s neck again, then slid one skilled hand down between them to tease at the angel’s by now extremely sensitive clit as he continued to thrust into him. Predictably, Aziraphale screamed a bit more. Crowley’s ear drums would just have to deal with it, he thought. It’d be worth it to see the scandalised looks on his neighbour’s faces when he bumped into them collecting the post from the mail boxes in the morning. He hissed to himself happily at the thought. 

But oh fuck the angel wasn’t kidding when he said he was wet. 

Crowley was not going to last long like this. 

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to slow down. He was going to make his angel melt into a puddle of goo again if it was the last thing he did. Aziraphale was currently making little whimpering sounds that Crowley correctly interpreted as inarticulate expressions of need for something _more_. More what, Crowley wasn’t entirely sure, but he’d give him a selection from the menu and see what worked. He pulled out slowly. “On all fours, Angel.” he instructed, and pulled a couple of pillows over for Aziraphale to rest on as he turned over. 

Crowley quickly gave Aziraphale a surprise lick from behind, making him yelp again (that wasn’t going to get old), then slid in again at this new angle, drawing a whole new variety of noises from the angel’s mouth. A couple of choice blasphemies fell on the demon’s ears like chocolate sauce over ice cream. Making an angel curse like this would have been damned good for brownie points from hell, if any of that stuff still mattered, which it didn’t. 

Crowley then leaned forward over Aziraphale’s back and snaked his hand around and under, till he reached the angel’s clit again, and was able to work it far better from this angle. Aziraphale was torn between bucking forward onto the demon’s skilled fingers, and thrusting back onto his cock, and whimpering with the overwhelming indecision of it all. 

It didn’t take long before Aziraphale climaxed again, his pussy clamping down around Crowley’s cock in a vice like grip, gushing and wet and pulsing and _OH MY FUCK_ Crowley was exploding too. Aziraphale’s knees were trembling and he collapsed forward onto the pile of pillows, with Crowley falling down with him, still buried to the hilt, pressed against the angel’s sweaty back, breathing hard into the back of his neck, then turning his head to kiss at Aziraphale’s cheek, trying to catch his breath. 

Aziraphale rediscovered his powers of speech first. 

“Oh, I say…” he gasped. 

Crowley cracked up. 

“What the fuck, Angel? You just let loose like the whore of bloody Babylon and your first response is to comment on it like some Edwardian maiden being aghast at something unseemly?” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the demon. “Well what else should one say? Give you marks out of ten? Write a review? Send a letter of commendation? Offer to write a reference?”

“Well, I’d go for some sky writing or a message on the goodyear blimp” Crowley joked. “But I’d settle for cuddling and more kisses, if your ladyship is amenable? Should I leave my calling card with your butler to arrange an appointment for further coital activities?”

Aziraphale wriggled out from under him and rolled over, beaming. “I’m sure I have some space in my diary for such an opportunity, my dear” he winked. He pulled Crowley into a tight embrace and held him close. “I’m sure there are more things you can do with me yet” 

Crowley snuggled into Aziraphale’s chest and let out a very quiet, satisfied little “wahoo.”

“What was that, dear?”

“Nothing.”

* * *

Crowley, a week later: So...

Crowley: You wet?

Aziraphale: oh I gave up on having a vulva

Crowley: oh

Aziraphale: I'm back to being enlarged and hard.

Crowley: sorry what.

**Author's Note:**

> as an aside, the title was lodged in my brain from decades ago after seeing adverts for this place on the local telly as a kid, kind of sad I never got to go there: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wet_N_Wild_(North_Shields)>


End file.
